


Antidote

by Crowned_Ladybug



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, M/M, Nightmares, Poison, also self-destructive tendencies, i'll get to my inbox at some point just not rn bc i'm hella tired still i'm sorry, mentions of death and suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 11:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12703866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowned_Ladybug/pseuds/Crowned_Ladybug
Summary: Dark's hands are covered in blood.





	Antidote

Dark wakes with shallow, gasping breaths, muscles wound tight and ready to spring. He slumps forward, mouth agape as he sucks in one desperate breath after the other. His aura ripples around him with every frantic heartbeat and a high-pitched ringing pierces the silence of the room.

He stares at his hands in the darkness, watches in horror as blood, thick and warm and the deadliest crimson, drips from his fingers. But once he gets up, stumbles out of bed with shaking limbs, and then looks at his hands again they're clean once more. There's nothing there, nothing but pale grey skin etched with lines like spider webs and shattered glass. Just like every night he wakes like this.

He stumbles to the bathroom nonetheless, because he can still feel the heavy stickiness of blood on his hands and its stench lingering in the air, and he needs to wash it off. The light is too bright once he turns it on and he winces, squinting to protect his tired eyes. The tiles are cold against his feet like the air is against his sweaty skin.

The face that stares back at him from the mirror doesn't feel like his own. He averts his gaze quickly, gripping the edge of the sink tightly, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he shouldn't, because the blood will stain the spotless white marble. He breathes. His shoulders rise and fall with every heavy breath, and his hair, thick with sweat and dishevelled from sleep, hangs into his face as he lowers his head. His arms quake from the strain of holding his body upright, and he adjusts his posture to bring them relief. Slowly his aura settles onto his shoulders like a silken sheet, still rippling with every shaky breath, and the ringing noise slowly ceases.

He starts washing his hands once his legs cooperate in supporting his weight. Part of him knows there was never any blood there to begin with, but he still sees it every second he stares at his hands. He scrubs at the skin until it hurts and stings, and he watches the never ending stream of red swirling down the drain in horror.

Part of him knows it can't be real, but he isn't sure which part is speaking of reality. He grips the sink again, trying to straighten himself, and he finally looks into the mirror again. He hates the sight that greets him, the sight of dishevelled hair and confused red eyes framed by dark circles, but he stares at himself still, defiant and terrified, because he needs something to ground him. Something. Anything at all. Anything but the images swimming around in his head.

The sound of the lock clicking and a door slipping shut is what brings him solace in the end. He pushes himself away from the sink, still shaky and disoriented, and grabs a towel to dry his hands and to look like he has a reason to be standing in the bathroom in the middle of the night other than having a staring contest with reality. He sighs weakly and his aura mimics the movement. The towel against his cold hands feels real.

There's a small knock against the doorframe and Dark turns to look without missing a beat. He knows who it is, but suddenly he feels like he can't go another second without seeing him and knowing that he's there.

"Hey," Anti whispers gently as he steps closer. "Is everything alright?"

Dark just nods. His silver tongue won't obey him now, not when it's this late and he's this upset, and so he would fail to lie if he tried. Anti knows him too well. Dark isn't sure if he even wants to lie to him.

He sighs quietly when Anti pulls him into his arms. He presses against him gratefully, his desperation showing in little ways only Anti can read. But the way he lays his head against Anti's shoulder, meek and quiet, the way his arms tighten around him and his breath shudders uncertainly, and the way his aura slowly settles around them are all signs Anti knows all too well.

Slowly Anti combs a hand through Dark's hair, separating the strands stuck together by sweat until he gets to the very end and then starts again. His fingers brush Dark's scalp with gentle, practised movements, his sharp nails never catching on the skin. Dark can feel the weight of Anti's head leaning against his own, and he presses against him just a little more.

His hands finally feel clean as they curl into the fabric of Anti's hoodie. The blood that had coated them (Anti's blood, shed by Dark's foolishness) is gone, and with it are the thoughts his nightmares had sparked. He still holds onto Anti for dear life and for the much needed comfort, because that terror, the fear of losing someone so incredibly precious is still very much there. He breathes in Anti's scent, something like fruit-scented candles and laundry detergent, and concentrates on his warm chest rising and falling against his own to banish the stench of blood and the images of his broken, dying body from his mind.

"It's okay," Anti breathes, and he pulls away a little to press his lips into Dark's hair just above his ear.

Dark thinks it's not okay. Having reoccurring dreams like these is very far from okay. So many times he's dreamt of the dreadful nights, of Anti's weak body trembling with pain under his touch as his system did everything it could to fight the poison. He can still see, vividly as ever, the wound on Anti's neck wide open, wider than ever before, bleeding through bandages in the matter of seconds and taking away his ability to speak until he was just gurgling on the blood that filled his mouth and flowed past his trembling lips and down his chin. He can still see his eyes hazy with pain and delirium, shaky, clumsy hands signing broken sentences with limited vocabulary – _"Dark, am I going to die?"_.

He almost did.

Dark knows it's his fault. Anti had swallowed poison in small doses just to make himself sick, because then Dark would sit with him, pet his hair and read for him from century-old books in languages Anti couldn't understand. Then one time he went too far and almost killed himself.

Every day Dark wishes he could turn back time to save everything before it could get that far. But he can't. There's a lot of things he has the power to do one way or another, but fixing the past is not one of them. Until the day he dies the guilt will weight on his soul, the guilt of almost driving Anti to suicide by never showing him love. So he vows to never let Anti doubt his love ever again, to make him happy no matter what. Because feeling things is terrifying and painful, but he's got a lesson of a lifetime of how never showing it will hurt even more.

"It's okay," Anti repeats, and his breath is hot against Dark's skin. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

Dark bites his lip so hard he almost draws blood, and he squeezes Anti closer to himself. That hurts. It hurts differently than his night terrors, but it hurts nonetheless. It's more familiar, it hurts like love does, like knowing that someone cares for a monster like himself unconditionally and would do anything to make him happy.

He's the one who should be telling this to Anti, promising him that he's safe and never to be hurt again. He's the one who's hurt Anti so much in the past and still has so much to make up for, he's the one who should be promising to protect him, with his life if needed, because he would. Oh, he would give up his stupid, pitiful life if it meant he could keep Anti save, he would in a heartbeat.

And yet it's Anti, telling him that it's going to be okay. Dark believes him and lets himself be comforted without remorse. He's meant to be the powerful leader of his brothers, someone to keep them all together and protect them. But he's finally learned that he can't be strong and untouchable all the time, as hard as that is to admit. That's why Wilford's there, to share the work of being the leader, and that's why Anti's there, to keep him together when he breaks, to kiss his forehead and hum him Irish lullabies he doesn't know the words to until he falls asleep.

"I thought you'd already be asleep when I got home," Anti hums. It's a prompt for Dark to tell why he's up if he feels up to it, and Anti doesn't push it when he remains silent. He's patient and gentle, more so than what most people assume of him, and especially when it comes to those he loves. He rubs his hand up and down Dark's back as he speaks again. "Come on, let's go to bed, okay?"

Anti lies on his back so that Dark can place his head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. They hold hands, and Anti smiles when he feels Dark curling closer to him with a small sigh. He's finally calm again and he feels safe having Anti there with him, warm and caring and more precious than anyone Dark has ever met. His breaths slow until the two of them are breathing in sync.

"I'm so scared of losing you," Dark says quietly, unprompted and seemingly pointless. But Anti knows him better than Dark knows himself, and he knows that it's how Dark tries to deal with his feelings – just saying them, letting them go, hoping his words find listening ears, but only ever doing so in quiet moments supported by trust.

"And I'm scared of losing you," Anti responds, threading the hand that isn't holding Dark's through Dark's hair. He takes his time with his words, knowing full well that Dark is listening. "But that's just how it is, love. You don't really know you love someone until you're scared of what you would be without them."

Dark nods. He loves how quiet and soft Anti's words get at night, how prettily he can talk when he doesn't even think about it. He wants to hear it more. He could listen to him forever.

Anti doesn't promise to stay forever. He doesn't promise eternity, because neither of them know if it's within their reach or not. Dark wouldn't want him to promise that either, he doesn't want him to try and hold himself to things he never should. But he promises a tonight and a tomorrow and a next week. He promises a next year, a decade, a lifetime. He promises loving smiles and soft kisses and steady hands, he promises to stay and keep Dark safe whether they grow old or not. He hates thinking of eternity, about how mortal him and Dark and each of their friends could be, so he promises just a little less.

He promises to love Dark, because that's one promise he can keep.

The morning finds them like that, safe and holding onto each other. Dark wakes Anti with little kisses to his neck and quiet hums about how beautiful he is. Anti smiles and kisses him sleepily and tells him he loves him.

And when Dark looks down at his hands while making coffee for two, he can't see the blood anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic references the same story as [these drawings](http://crowned-ladybug.tumblr.com/post/167380810522/alternate-ending-to-a-fic-i-never-posted) do, but obviously a different timeline. Either way the original idea came from my wonderful friend and heacanon buddy, [Krista](http://sunkistjello.tumblr.com/).


End file.
